


Taste

by Chromat1cs



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Compliant, Consensual, Cunnilingus, F/F, Fanon, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Hogwarts Era, I would do combat for this rarepair, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), Of-Age Consent, Oral Sex, Smut, dorlene, gal pals, i love these two
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-11-28 19:15:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18212462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chromat1cs/pseuds/Chromat1cs
Summary: Marlene McKinnon is a very sensible young woman, and yet sometimes beautiful things make her lose her words while she can't recall these things emerging in the first place—but she isn't complaining.





	Taste

**Author's Note:**

> I'll take girls going down on each other for the first time for $1000, Alex; by which I mean, give me more stumbly cunnilingus between my favs!!
> 
> Full disclosure, I had one too many ""medicated"" gummies last night and no lie woke up to this in my drafts. WHOOPS. I take all responsibility for this romp, and also apologize in advance for typos/grammatical weirdness. I might skate back and edit this later.
> 
> Enjoy!

“I feel like I want to try something.”

Dorcas pauses. Marlene’s pulse careens faster as though it’s just been blitzed with a quick spell.  _ Try Something; _ Dorcas’ low voice, all scratched like a lense that’s been dropped in the gravel but still throws light in brilliant spangles, does filthy things to Marlene’s guts. She swallows. She wants more of that. 

“How do you mean?” Marlene’s voice is high in her throat and she knows her skin is stained rose-blush from at least her collarbone to her scalp. Dorcas’ thumb makes a little circle on the inside of Marlene’s leg, high up and almost at her hip, along the fleshy cord of Marlene’s thigh muscle—pressing tenderly, as though she’s telling secrets with that touch, as though she can taste Marlene with it too,  _ Merlin burning,  _ the thought if Dorcas’ tongue makes Marlene’s heart tug again. Dorcas smiles, almost to herself, and Marlene bites down on a grin in undeniable tandem. “What.”

Dorcas kisses her again then, a slow thing, another smiling thing, a thing that says  _ I want to drown in you, right here, right now _ —Marlene wants to drown too and she licks back with warm intent, her lips opening in a sigh. Dorlene presses at her thigh again and Marlene thinks that perhaps she’s never had a heart before now as it thunders sweetly in her ribs. “I feel like,” Dorcas murmurs it in a low oath, right there on Marlene’s lips, and Marlene tightens her hold on Dorcas’ waist without quite meaning to; “I want to go down on you.”

They had tumbled into this situation, foals learning to run along the pathways of want and need, all elbows and knees and wordless begging, in a cobble of folly when one looks back on the past hour or so. Marlene had been studying up for the last of the term before the holidays, intent on not failing Charms in a repeat of last year—NEWTs loom in the not-so-distant springtime, and she can almost hear her mother’s tight-lipped encouragement to  _ Keep on those books, Marley, they’re magic but they’re not going to memorize themselves. _ Dorcas had arrived through the door, all sweat and dirt and the traces of rain from the pitch, with her kit slightly tousled and her hair more than half fallen from its thick blonde plait.

_ Eyes crossing yet? _ Dorcas’ grins were always fox-ish but this one was particularly sharp, and Marlene had been more than a bit distracted for the last several pages of reading on the effects of love potions. What timing the universe tends to keep sometimes.

_ No more than I can help it, _ A sigh, a deflection like a fizzling spell that gains more momentum when knocked aside. Marlene had snapped the book shut and tossed it to the other end of the bed, shifting her seat and re-crossing her legs sprawled long before her on the mattress—not missing the way Dorcas spent a tick too long standing there and drinking in the sight of Marlene’s skirt riding up. She felt herself flush and didn’t quite know where to go with the feeling. Fancying Dorcas from across the classroom or campus or dormitory was usually a very distant thing, but lately it had been growing a bit...nearer. Marlene couldn’t tell if, in that moment, that was a positive or not. They had found their way a few times into a broom closet or a back corner during parties, always inebriated and always enthusiastic, and Marlene had always hesitated to pull at those strings wound between them when  _ not _ couched in the comfortable haze of half-removal.

_ Here. _ The single word from Dorcas, sounding half like a question and maybe a quarter even between hesitation and hunger, she had unbound her hair and shaken it down idly as she sat down across from Marlene.  _ Hell and a half, _ that hair of hers. Marlene could write poetry in it. About it. Around it.

When Marlene didn’t pull back, Dorcas leaned in. When Marlene moved forward instead of twitching away, as she might have years ago before confronting this great, enigmatic desire to bury herself in other girls, Dorcas smiled. When they met in a kiss that was mostly lips, slightly teeth, all breath, Marlene had felt as though she might be crossing into some new territory of perfect bliss. Thrilling, warm, terrifying all at once.

Currently, with Dorcas’ one hand high up her skirt and the other running faintly in shivers along her ribs just under Marlene’s jumper, Marlene bites her back together to keep them from singing with the arousing shock of desire. She nods, one of her curls bouncing slightly against her chin, and unconsciously flexes her fingers against the warm and slightly dampened collar of Dorcas’ quidditch kit. “Sure, if you really want to.” Looking into those sapphire-chip eyes of hers is maddening in the loveliest way, and she kisses Marlene again with slow intent. Marlene’s eyes slide shut of their own volition. She can’t hold in the warbling little groan of sigh that leaves her when Dorcas slips her hand higher on Marlene’s leg, finally at its destination through its slow and kneading path, to press her thumb gently at the warm flat of Marlene’s knickers.

“I  _ really  _ want to.” Her whisper is rocky with heat, and Marlene wants it to positively landslide her.

Leaning back into the pillows propped behind her, prepared for a long study but turning into something much more wholly enjoyable, Marlene kisses Dorcas in the same motion that sees them going horizontal. She lets her legs fall open to Dorcas’ beckoning fingers, fingers she’s felt only twice before in quick little moments scrawled into those closets or party corners, furtive and sharp and jaggedly wonderful but never before like this; never before with the luxury of time and privacy and just enough sweat sitting there on Dorcas’ skin to taste like summertime incarnate. Marlene breathes a small sound against the space behind Dorcas’ ear when that thumb presses again, just so, and then does it again and again to make Marlene’s hips twitch and pull more clouded sweetness from her voice. “I’ve never had it done to me,” Marlene manages to admit in the space between a kiss. Her voice catches once, right in the middle, and Dorcas grins sideways. She blows a strand of long straw hair away from her eyes with a puff of breath. Marlene is in quiet awe of how desirable that sight is.

“Good, I’ve never done it to anyone before. But—” Dorcas illustrates her point, ever the pragmatist, with a switch to her index and middle fingers playing between Marlene’s legs instead of her thumb, and she watches with an expression that might pass for rapt when Marlene gasps into it and seeks the pressure with a blind little spasm—”I’m more than happy to learn as we go.”

“Good, at least one of us will get some studying done.” Marlene’s joke feels pale in the watery puddle that has become her resolve, but Dorcas laughs anyways. Her laugh is beautiful, a loud and low burst of sunlight, golden as her hair and the lion’s heart in her chest that powers the long, well-muscled burst of her body. Marlene bites down hard on her bottom lip when Dorcas begins tugging at the waistband of her knickers before she’s even done chuckling.

“I would like to study  _ you, _ Ms. McKinnon, bloody endlessly.”

_ Fuck. _ How does Dorcas keep her head for such confident bullshit in a situation like this? The most objectively beautiful girl in the entire House is currently working Marlene into half-nakedness with gentle hands and appreciative stares. How does this happen? “Study away,” Marlene blurts quite gracelessly, meaning to purr the words but instead half-choking on them as she drops the tiny bundle of cotton and lace to the floor—sex appeal has never quite been her  _ Thing, _ predisposed to a giggle that tends to snort and a body with a bit more plushy curve within its nut-brown skin instead of willowy litheness and the sort of sinewy beauty of the other girls for whom Marlene has harbored secret scarlet dreams. But Dorcas has always looked at her like something to be coveted, something worth touching and holding and devouring—yes, devour is the right word to use while being fixed with a stare like that.

Dorcas looks at though she wants to respond but rethinks it, scootches backwards and down to her knees on the floor instead to slide the pleats of Marlene’s skirt up to bare her hips like peeled fruit, absorbing the sight with a slow drag of her eyes. She’s silent for a moment, only moving her hands in slow approval along Marlene’s flanks and the swell of her shin beneath the socks still pulled up to Marlene’s knees, before licking her lips with a quick dart of her tongue. “You’re so gorgeous,” Dorcas murmurs, almost to herself.

Marlene decides not to spoil the moment with a denial and scrambles for something more constructive; “Takes one to know one, Dora.” It’s tender, too tender? Not too tender; Dorcas’ eyes flash and Marlene knows she’s done well, reads that approval like an unsaid spell, and nearly chokes on an inhale like preparing to dive deep in the lake as Dorcas lowers her mouth to the space between Marlene’s legs.

The first slow lick is like nothing Marlene has felt before, a probing wet heat that drags along her slit like a finger but not, like a toy but  _ not;  _ she cries out softly on a gasp that mingles in the air with a low open-mouthed hum from Dorcas. “New taste,” she says there. The air from her words puff against Marlene’s spiking wetness and make Marlene tremble again, all heat and glory and everything she has ever wanted to feel.

“Good taste?” Marlene asks. Hope spangles the two syllables alongside surprise, arousal, a shade of doubt. Dorcas licks her again, pressing just a bit more this time, and Marlene reflexively strangles the bed sheets beneath her in one ecstatic fist. Those blue eyes flick upward, catching the near-onyx of Marlene’s own irises, and burn with approval.

“Yeah.”

Marlene doesn’t have time to poke fun at the simple answer before Dorcas sets back to her, the flat of her tongue a relentless agent of curling bliss. She adds her lips after a moment and Marlene groans as she melts further, arching her back, her breath leaping high in her throat to behold the gentle sucking pressure of Dorcas mouthing at her clitoris.  _ Yeah. _ Maybe that’s truly the only word available to describe this,  _ Yeah, _ equal parts exhalation and exaltation, the only combined twist of sound that can sum up the wet and the hot and the give and the take of this act.  _ Yeah. _

Dorcas’ tongue is a bit stuttery after a while but her lips never flag, open-mouthed kisses landing like whispered blessings on Marlene’s quim. She’s dripping wet, slippery and swollen under Dorcas’ mouth with such a swirling collection of sensation that she almost doesn’t notice it when Dorcas begins teasing at her with two fingers again.

“That,  _ that, _ there,” Marlene babbles when Dorcas strokes in a shallow dip that strikes such an incredible tandem with her mouth that Marlene might as well have seen stars. She feels a smile pull at Dorcas’ lips and burns with a blush, an aimless thing that might be petulance but is more likely her body’s own brand of encouragement, and Dorcas sets to finding that rhythm again without another moment’s pause. Marlene spirals into it, chasing the blinding current of sensation, and lets her veins light up with rapture.

She loves this. She loves everything about this moment.

Marlene’s limits arrive too quickly for her liking, but she can just as well hold off from the pleasure as she could bring herself to  _ truly _ study this evening. Dorcas’ pace has switched to a steady massaging led by her fingers while her tongue presses in a constant flat and occasional flicker across Marlene’s sex, fatigue rendering her mouth less dexterous but no less gracious. The gentle sound of the ministrations fill the silence of the room, mingling with little mewling gasps that are only  _ slightly _ embarrassing to Marlene, to only compound the intensity and the newness of the moment. The burgeoning wave of orgasm threatens to froth over before Marlene wants to find it, but she’s powerless to hold it back.

“‘M gonna come,” Marlene pants, “Dora, I— _ fuck,  _ yeah,” her breath shearing,  _ Yeah,  _ her declaration ruined by Dorcas leaning into her rhythm and feeling Marlene follow it,  _ Yeah _ ; knowing, somehow, as Marlene has found with the other girls she’s kissed or touched or simply laid with and traced along their bodies, that resonance of feeling shared by the duality of their bodies—the similar processes of arrival, the similar pathways of touch, the unsaid knowledge of how they touch themselves and how to apply that to another body in the ritual of reverant adoration. Marlene is trembling, dripping, pressing up against Dorcas’ mouth to be received in eager encouragement; Dorcas’ brow is slightly furrowed, her eyes shut in concentration, her nose almost flush against the dark curls tracing the vee of Marlene’s mound. The intensity is too much for Marlene then, to see Dorcas so devoted to making Marlene feel good.

Marlene has a moment of suspended observation in which she thinks this is the most beautiful she’s ever found Dorcas to be: slightly sweaty from practice, still in her kit, hair mussed, Marlene’s knees on either side of her head, her mouth buried in Marlene’s pussy and, however artlessly, pulling Marlene toward Eden with nothing but her mouth and a couple fingers.

It’s a work of fucking art. Marlene couldn’t hold on if her life depended on it.

She comes harder than she can ever remember before, with a feeling that starts in her belly and shoots out through her pelvis like the jagged snap of a hex. But this hex is sweet, a bolt of nectar, curling immediately to envelop her sex in heat and release as she bursts with it; Marlene hears herself cry out with a hoarse yelp, her thighs splaying, her slit slicking immediately and heavily for the first pulsing wave of completion against Dorcas’ mouth. Her socked feet hit the floor, their support slipping from Dorcas’ shoulders as she presses forward to see herself out along the flat of Dorcas’ tongue, and Marlene vaguely feels Dorcas’s hands press hungrily against the insides of her thighs to spread them even further as she doubles down with her tiring tongue but unflagging insistence to yank Marlene’s orgasm sharply into a sharp veering curve. Marlene hisses in around gritted teeth and cries out again as sensation floods her, burns her nerves like wildfire—she feels her quim twitching wildly against Dorcas’ mouth and revels in the magic of it.  _ This  _ is magic. They don’t teach these sorts of things, and for what? Perhaps harnessing the raw potential of feelings like this, bliss like this, would crack the world in two.

Marlene drowns in the knowledge that her body is made of the same matter that can create light from nothing and conjure courage from fear, and she feels, for the moment, as though she can see forever.

Dorcas eventually pulls back, and as Marlene catches her breath in the trembling and whimpering puddle of sensation to which she has been reduced to drag her eyes down to look at Dorcas some more. She drags a slow hand along her lips, glistening with wetness along her mouth and chin, and her eyes are bright. Devilish. Enamored.

“What.” Marlene huffs it like the horses back on her mother’s farm,  _ What, _ expectant and sated and sweet all at once. Dorcas smiles. Marlene can’t help but mirror it.

“I sort of want to do that  _ all the time,” _ Dorcas says, almost as though she’s admitting a secret, and Marlene’s heart swells while she bursts with laughter. Dorcas follows soon on her heels, leaning her forehead against the inside of Marlene’s knee, giddy and exhausted and primed all at once, and it is the safest Marlene has ever felt in her life.


End file.
